


Let Your Demons Run

by Shampain



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Biting, F/M, Gabriel POV, Great Depression, Grinding, Groping, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Sort Of, Southern Gothic, i'm trying not to overthink this, seesawing between creepyweird and comedic, send help, stuff you shouldn't be doing with your corporate nemesis like, this pairing is eating my brain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 04:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20058094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: As America suffers from the Great Depression, spiritual leaders and hucksters abound. When Beelzebub requests Gabriel's presence in a small town experiencing a wave of healing and faith, he goes, but not without a lot of questions.Unfortunately, Beelzebub is more of a show, don't tell kind of demon. And also she takes his stuff.





	Let Your Demons Run

Standing at the side of the road, Gabriel felt the heat as a physical presence that smothered the countryside with its touch. He had noticed it in everything he passed, from the lazy but silent trundling of the cows in the fields to the distant sound of town a quarter mile from the bend in the road. Even the chirp of the grasshoppers in the grass seemed muffled and quiet. There was only one noise that dominated: the buzzing of the flies swarming the carcass in the ditch.

Some sort of dog, Gabriel noted. He had no idea how long it had been there – the rules of organic decomposition were of absolutely no interest to him – but it had certainly begun to rot. There was a crow gorging itself on the rancid meat, shiny beak snapping and ripping, the flies swarming and shifting like a cloud.

Being on earth changed things. He was now in a physical body instead of his more comfortable spiritual form, and as such Gabriel was victim to his surroundings in ways he had no wish to ever become accustomed to. He felt things like heat and discomfort; sometimes his pulse flickered and shuddered when he did things like breathe or, alternately, stop breathing. He was more in control than any human ever could be – sturdier, too, come to think of it – but even he felt the press of the summer sun.

A single drop of sweat slid down his temple. He flicked it away with only a vague sense of irritation, then checked his watch before looking up at the cloudless blue sky, glancing out from beneath the brim of his fedora. It was the right time. The right place. So where was she? Another minute and he would officially be _waiting_, and Gabriel did not wait for anyone, not even her.

The crow suddenly leaped to the air with an angry, harsh noise. The carcass shifted and lolled, falling apart even as it moved; maggots burst forth and the flies swarmed upwards. He felt the ground shudder through the soles of his expensive shoes, and there was a hot breath of air that was out of place even in the stretch of baking countryside.

Lord Beelzebub, the prince of flies, unfolded from the earth like a curse from a drunkard’s lips. Her arrival fully knocked aside the carcass, which split open; she placed her boot into the rotten meat and squirming maggots without a second look, moving towards him. He smelt Hell and evil come off of her in waves. Her scorched clothes and tangled hair brought to mind a human in the throes of poverty and addiction, though her scuffed boots were handmade and the fabric moved around her small body in the soft waves only accomplished by the most expensive of suiting.

“Gabriel,” she said. A buzzing echo enveloped her voice before wavering off into silence, and then she sounded almost like any other angel. That was good. For some reason her demonic voice made the back of his teeth ache.

“Beelzebub,” Gabriel said, pleasantly. She scowled. Apparently whenever he spoke it was her cue to pull a face. He held his hand out to the road, beckoning towards the unseen town. “Shall we?”

At any other time, their appearance might have attracted too much unwanted attention: but this was a time of miracles for the sleepy town of Jubilee, and the townspeople had been seeing all sorts coming through lately, arriving on foot or by car, filling up the tiny rooming house or pitching their tents out in the fields.

Orders moved in a top-down motion, and thus Gabriel, from his position at the top, enjoyed an existence relatively free of occupational mystery. He, in fact, made most of the decisions, with some feedback from Michael and Uriel. He saw all of humanity laid out before him like a map, only instead of land or water he saw souls, each one a sparkling point of light. And he saw their movements too – small and ever-changing like the flickering of candles. He was rarely, if ever, surprised, except on those rare days where a memo came across his desk that had the distinct whiff of sulphur.

Now here he was.

More importantly, though, he wanted to know if the reason they were there was for the reason he suspected, the same reason that as they walked through town no one gave them a second look. Gabriel did not like not knowing things. It made him irritable. He supposed he could just _ask_ Beelzebub, but he wouldn’t be able to trust what she said anyway. Demons were irritating like that. No; he would have to wait for the truth to present itself.

She walked smartly along beside him, in short choppy steps to compensate for his lengthy stride. When Hell had formed and the legions of the damned had amassed underneath Beelzebub’s princely rule, Gabriel had expected his counterpart down below to be more like him, and a lot less like… that. When he had first met her he had said something that had gotten her so angry she had tried to bite his nose off. He didn’t even remember what he had said. Probably something completely normal, but demons had a way of taking everything personally.

Suddenly, she veered off. He followed.

It was the town’s one tiny drug store; Gabriel wondered if Beelzebub knew it was there or if she decided to leap at the chance, but otherwise he knew exactly what she was looking for. The last time he had seen her was shortly before the Great War, and she had done the exact same thing then.

“I really don’t see why you bother,” he remarked, leaning one elbow on the lunch counter, watching idly. She had to go up on the tips of her toes to get to a comfortable height.

“I’m shocked_d_d,” she said, drawing out the second word. Still that strange, echoing buzz, but it was soft, not enough to bother him – but enough to unsettle the man behind the counter who took her order, setting three ice cold bottles of Coca-Cola on the counter between them. Humans could feel her words, grinding deep inside of their bones, but they were never able to understand just what it was that unnerved them. They felt only that urge to flee.

She picked up the first bottle and drank it without pausing for breath (as she did not need to) and, finished, set it down and picked up the second.

The air inside the drugstore was heavy and warm, stirred sluggishly around by a pair of metal-bladed ceiling fans; the other people inside also looked heavy and warm, for that matter, though his and Beelzebub’s presence seemed to knock them out of their stupor for a moment. Off the street, away from all the other travellers, their strangeness was easier to see. But soon they would forget it, so Gabriel wasn’t bothered. Humans were like that. Their memories were like their reflections; clear in front of their eyes, distant and hazy as soon as they looked away.

She was finished the second bottle. True to form, she picked up the third and left without saying anything at all. Gabriel fished in his pocket and placed three nickels on the counter in a neat stack, paused, and added a fourth, before leaving as well.

Another drop of sweat was starting to form, this time at the back of his neck, right above the pressed collar of his shirt. Again he became aware of the physicality of his body, at its sensations and responses, which attempted to rule his actions or his thoughts. He supposed that was why, when Beelzebub coalesced into human form, she thirsted for sugar when otherwise she was in simmering, buzzing stasis with her surroundings. Being in a body created its own cravings and desires if left unchecked, and as a demon Beelzebub probably couldn’t care less about controlling them.

The bottle in her hand was already glistening with condensation. Did she feel the heat as he did? The sun beat down mercilessly at the top of her dark head. Though she was dressed like a man, her snarled hair was hatless, and shone blue-black and iridescent like a horsefly’s back.

As he had suspected, they were walking towards the other end of town, where other travellers were milling about, talking excitedly with one another. Hobos who carried all of their belongings with them and wealthy men dressed much like Gabriel walking with their wives and delicately-dressed daughters. The children of the town were running about and playing and staring with wonder at the exotic display of people, but out of some animal instinct they gave Gabriel and Beelzebub a wide berth.

She finished her drink, dropped the bottle on the ground without a glance. Gabriel patiently flicked his fingertips and the bottle disappeared, finding its way back into the drug store, where it could be washed and properly reused.

If the event had been in a church, that would have made it difficult, as Beelzebub would have avoided stepping on consecrated ground. But the preacher’s fame had begun to spread and the church was too small; instead the nearby field had been commandeered for his growing flock. Rusty, overturned buckets with planks of splintery wood placed across them made for makeshift benches, all of them arranged in a semicircle around a cleared area.

Tired of following the demon around, Gabriel stepped past her, cutting her off (he heard her buzz of irritation, and ignored it) and headed towards a section in the middle. If she had dragged him here for some reason, he was going to pick the damn spots.

(But he was the angel, so he took a moment to politely let her sit down first. She glared but sank down on one of the rickety benches, and he took the seat beside her.)

All around them, the humans were separating and forming groups, but all of them were taking seats side by side, many of them amassing towards the front. Closest to the action, he supposed.

She planted her hands on the bench on either side of her, supporting herself as she leaned back and propped one ankle up on her knee. It put her foot in dangerously close proximity to his own knee, and he huffed.

“What?” she asked. He looked pointedly at her left boot, which was still dark with the putrefaction she had trudged through when she had arrived. In fact, one of the maggots half-mashed by her sole seemed to still be hanging on for dear life.

In answer she plucked the handkerchief he had in his suit’s breast pocket, holding the corner delicately between forefinger and thumb, giving it a little shake to unfold it. Then she used it to begin cleaning her boot. He frowned.

“That was very uncalled for,” he said.

She didn’t look up from her work. “I _disagree_.”

He thought perhaps she was going to give it back to him, soiled and disgusting, and he prepared himself to be annoyed by that. Instead she just tucked it into her own pocket. Alright, so she stole his handkerchief. Par for the course.

“Why are we here?” he asked. The human seated in front of him turned to give him a puzzled look. “I’m quite busy, you know. Heaven needs me. I can’t just pop down here on a whim, especially _your_ whim-”

“You’re speaking too loudly,” she interrupted. “Stop. The humans find it strange.”

“Am I?” he asked, bemused, at the same level of volume as before.

“Seriously,” she said, “shu_ttt_tt it_tt_tt.”

He rolled his eyes.

He said something else.

“Now you’re too quiet,” she growled. “What was thatt?”

Before he could repeat what he had said – asking again why they were there – he was interrupted. A shadow fell across them both, belonging to a human woman, standing at his other side. She was smiling at him, for some reason; he wasn’t sure what she had to smile about. Clearly, she had not seen Beelzebub.

In America, quite a few of the humans had fallen on hard times. They’d gone and ruined something with their economy, or whatever – he didn’t care enough to look at details – but it was one of the reasons why there was so much spiritual activity happening on this continent. They liked to replace God with money, and money with God, depending on what they were losing.

The woman sinking down onto the bench beside him did not seem to have suffered quite so much as the rest. Her dress and hat were in very good condition – new, never mended – and a splash of cosmetic on her mouth gave her a wealthy look.

“Well, _hello_ there, honey,” she said. “I’ve been looking for a place to rest my feet. Is this seat taken?”

Suddenly, Beelzebub was there, leaning across him, putting her round, androgynous face close to the human’s. “Get out of it,” she warned. “Find God elsewhere.”

The woman shrank back. “You’re a girl?” she blurted out. Her surprise, Gabriel saw, was getting in the way of her baser instincts, which ought to be telling her to run from a predator. Civilization had truly weakened the humans over the centuries.

A grin cracked its way across Beelzebub’s face, like rock shattering under heat. “I’m me_eee_ee,” she breathed. Gabriel’s molars ached. Several humans around them, unaware of the confrontation, stiffened in discomfort without knowing why. What was that human colloquialism? Nails on chalkboard? Worse than that. Much worse.

It penetrated the woman’s uncertainty. There was something else, too; the scent of blood, rich and rotten, lurking under the sweet smell of dry grass and the unpleasant whiff of sweat from the congregation. The woman drew away and, without another word, left.

“She was harmless,” Gabriel said, raising an eyebrow at Beelzebub.

The prince of flies sniffed. “She was overstepping her bounds,” she said, and placed her hand on Gabriel’s leg.

He looked down at it, resting there on the top of his thigh. Her fingers were curled inward, almost cupped against the inside curve of his leg. But she did not look down, only straight ahead, acting otherwise unaware; it was as if her hand wasn’t there at all, and he must be imagining it.

But it was there, alright. It felt strangely cool, even through the linen of his pants.

Should he ask her to move it?

“Why am I here?” he asked again.

Blessedly, she finally decided to answer him – in a way. “I’ve been hearing reports,” she said. “I wanted to see for myself, to see what needs to be done.”

“That’s why _you’re_ here,” he said. “What about me?”

She scowled. Her hand tightened for a moment on his leg, moved up an inch, and then something began to happen in the makeshift pulpit.

The preacher began to speak, but Gabriel did not really listen. It all ended up being the same, in whatever language it was spoken in; and while it might be new to humans, with their ridiculously short lives, to him it was a repetitive chatter. Instead he noted only the rise and fall in energy around him, the way that the preacher's words followed a melodic pattern. An angel had done a study on the voice patterns of religious leaders once and had managed to work out that there were roughly five hundred and seventy-three individual song patterns for speaking to a crowd. Gabriel was entertaining himself by trying to figure out which number this preacher was using. It was about the only thing to amuse himself with, because while the congregation were joining in with shouts and every so often a 'Hallelujah!' the preacher was not particularly... effervescent. Very little penetrated Gabriel's senses that were so highly attuned to love and goodness.

Beelzebub squeezed his leg, presumably to get his attention.

“What do you think?” she asked, carefully.

“I think this is a waste of time,” he said, dryly. He felt he understood what her hand was doing there, now. Some form of communication. Was it supposed to feel that pleasant, though?

The human in front of them turned to glower. His gaze dropped down to where Beelzebub's hand was currently fixed on Gabriel's leg, and the expression mutated into one of disgust and shock. Despite that, he was wearing a nice suit, and Gabriel had half a mind to ask him where he got it.

“This is _not_ Sodom,” the human said.

Gabriel, who had been there, said, “Don't I know it,” while Beelzebub rolled her eyes skyward.

Again, the puzzle of why he was there. Was it possible there was a renegade angel working through the preacher, allowing him to perform unsanctioned miracles? Gabriel doubted it, but if that was the case, then Beelzebub would have been a bit more forthcoming in the memo she sent him (it would have attacked him while he was trying to read it, for starters, because she would have been very, very angry). And just then she seemed calm enough, hand on his leg notwithstanding.

He was still trying to figure it out when the preacher began to rove. He was the atypical man of God for this time period – thin and rake-like, as if he was too busy praying to feed himself, with a tense energy around him. He moved restlessly, eyes roving over the covered assemblage. Gabriel was not surprised when his gaze landed on the two of them there, though he wondered if the human had the strength to understand just _what_ he was looking at.

“So many of you have travelled such long ways to be here,” the preacher said, approaching them. “I see you, the both of you, finally at rest from such a long journey. Opposite ends of the world, even.”

“Good job,” Beelzebub laughed.

“Tell me,” the preacher said, leaning in close. Gabriel caught the whiff of sweat, and something akin to madness, off of him. Unsurprising, since it was way too hot in this place, and madness was a common thread in religion. “What hardships did you survive in order to make it here, today?”

Beelzebub tipped her head to the side. “I had to go through Hell to get here,” she said, honestly.

“Come with me; come and feel the light of God.”

“I assure you,” Gabriel interrupted, almost laughing. He resisted that but even so he could not stop his voice from being amused, jovial even. “She is _beyond_ saving.”

But then Beelzebub started to rise to her feet. “Let him see,” she said.

The preacher held his arms up and the crowd cried out in jubilation, “Come, come, child,” he beckoned, and Beelzebub stepped after him.

Lightning-fast, Gabriel’s hand snapped out to grab her wrist, feeling the thin, brittle bone beneath cold skin. “He _is_ a man of God,” he said, warningly. She could play her games, but Gabriel would not allow her to forget her place.

She shook him free. “If he _wa_ss_s_, not anymore,” she said, calmly. “Look closer.”

Frowning, Gabriel released her.

The crowd was cheering now as Beelzebub and the preacher walked to the front of the congregation; him, tall and thin, dwarfing her small and untamed figure. Around them people hollered and yelled, but Gabriel ignored that, instead let his senses drift a bit sidewise, past his human form and into something more angelic. The preacher stood at the front of the crowd and spoke again, of light and love, falling back into the rhythm and pitch of a sermon.

Beelzebub was right, he saw. No wonder he had not picked up anything particularly strong from the preacher; he did not speak to goodness, but to something else. Gabriel leaned forward, watching more closely now.

The humans on this continent hadn't achieved the same level of murkying the waters as their colonizers had, or at least that was the impression he had been under. Apparently, times were changing. If a human excreted enough false goodness, it made it hard to detect the evil – meaning demons or angels might sometimes fail to properly code and collect the soul upon death, and bad people could in this way sneak through into Heaven. Not only did the agents of Heaven end up caretakers to subpar souls, those on the side of Hell were just as bereft in not hitting their numbers for that quarter. And if Heaven tried to extradite the soul downstairs? The paperwork load was enormous. It didn't even bear thinking about.

While people could do good things for bad reasons, it didn't count as a good deed until it started having outward effects, especially socially. The huge crowd of people who had come to hear the preacher's words of hope and compassion put enough water for the prayer wheel to turn in his name. Unfairly earned Goodness; it made Gabriel sick. Thank Heaven that God made sure humans weren't smart enough to figure out how they could cheat the system on _purpose_.

“How old are you, child?” the preacher asked, projecting enough for all to hear.

“Older than I look,” Beelzebub said. Her voice was clear now, not quite musical but strong and even. Practically human, to the untrained ear.

“The world has left its mark on you,” the man said, frowning. “But we are here. All of God's love is upon you now.”

Well that _definitely_ wasn't true, or she'd be dissolving or something equally disgusting. Gabriel watched closely. Now that he was assured this human was not one of Heaven's, he wanted to see how strongly tied his soul was to Hell. Not strongly enough, if Beelzebub was there to correct things. Why hadn't she sent Crowley? Was he busy with something else? He made a note to have Aziraphale go and check – it was never good when Hell was up to something – and focused back on what was happening in front of him.

Crowds could emit enough positivity that low-grade ills could be temporarily banished. Get enough believers in an area and cures could – and would – spontaneously happen. Sometimes, angels and real miracles even made an appearance, though that was not what was happening here. And that was not what would happen, while the Prince of Hell was standing there.

The preacher held out his hands in invitation. Beelzebub nodded.

A strange frisson cracked its way through reality when their hands touched. Gabriel felt it as a tickle at the back of his throat; he coughed discreetly while the humans around him jumped to their feet and cried out in awe. They felt it, though they could not see it, and they were tied together enough to let themselves share the moment.

It was, Gabriel knew, a pulse of static before a lightning storm. He stayed ready. As the Prince of Hell Beelzebub could do as she liked to any soul that had fallen, and though the preacher was still alive Gabriel wasn't about to touch that soul with a ten foot pole. But there were good people all around him, and while he doubted she was arrogant enough to do anything drastic to them in front of him, he could still never be sure with her.

The preacher was looking deep into Beelzebub's eyes. On the physical plane they were a lovely, crystal blue. But that would change, the longer you looked at them.

Then it happened. The preacher tried to take a step back, and he could not. He had the backs of Beelzebub's hands cradled in his palms, and yet he seemed unable to pull away, as if something was gripping him there tightly. He began to pull back and struggle and Beelzebub just stood there, watching him, looking almost curious.

“What is it?” she asked. Her voice began to morph and change like a physical thing. “Am I too old for you? I know... you _like_... the_mmm_m... **Y O U N G**.”

Then the preacher started to scream, high and wordless. The humans began to move, upending their benches, getting tangled with one another, unsure whether to stay or go. To run for the preacher or run from him? They could not seem to agree. Their terror created a spicy musk in the air.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. And people claimed _angels_ were showboaters.

An hour later they were walking back down the road together, towards where they had arrived.

“I get it,” he said. He watched her kick a rock at a bush full of birds, who chirped in startled fright when the stone sailed right into their midst. “You want my side to pick up the slack. Well, frankly, this is mostly your fault-”

“What do you-!”

“-if you hadn't made the stock market crash they would be worshipping capitalism instead! None of this phony prayer!”

“Oh, they worship _both_,” Beelzebub said contemptuously. “And you know it. Your angels need to keep an eye out for this better! We almost _missed_ this soul. A soul like this has enough energy to power our red light district for... well, almost three hours.”

Gabriel paused. He wanted to ask just how many souls their red light district was consuming. It must be pretty exciting down there, he supposed.

“Fine,” he said. “Point taken. Next time just send me a longer memo.”

“Oh, where's the fun in that?” Beelzebub asked, mysteriously. He didn't see how any of this was fun, let alone the bit where he had to deal with being in a body, which had to suffer in this heat, and recognized other physical sensations, like touch.

“So what's going to happen to your preacher now?” he asked, rather than pursue _that_ train of thought. “He was still alive when we left. I mean. He was breathing.”

“He'll get what's coming to him before the year is over,” Beelzebub said. She fidgeted with her coat buttons, frowning. She was probably thinking about missing the chance to get in another shot of sugar before heading back down to Hell, where her cravings would cease.

Well, that was the end of that. They could head back to their respective offices, now. Or, at least, they could have, except Gabriel was still thinking about things, and he couldn't have that. It was far too annoying: he preferred to figure his questions out, and then move on. “Why did you keep grabbing my leg back there, anyway?” he prodded, as they stepped off the side of the road, into the ditch. The dog carcass was still there, surrounded by a cloud of flies.

She looked at him like the answer was obvious. “Because that human was overstepping her bounds,” she said. “You were with _me_. And they don't respond to subtlety.”

“I wasn't _with_ you,” he said. “We were simply in one another's company.”

“Same thing.”

“It isn't, you know.”

“She had no business speaking to you,” Beelzebub said. For a moment Gabriel thought she was talking about the fact he was an angel, which shocked him – surely, Beelzebub didn't think being an angel was anything special?

Turns out she definitely _didn't_ think that. “She's only human, and I'm your equal,” she finished. “I take precedence.”

Gabriel opened his mouth in shock. There were very few instances where he was stuck without an answer, but most of the time, when it happened, it was because the prince of flies was royally screwing everything up.

“We are not equals,” he finally sputtered out. “We are _opposites_.”

“Opposition,” she corrected.

“It's the same!”

“It's really not.”

“Well,” he said, insultingly. “How would you know? I bet you can barely see anything from the basement, let alone understand it.”

She vibrated angrily. Next thing he knew, she was climbing him.

It seemed the most sensible thing to do then was press her back against the nearest tree, where he could get his balance and also try to contain her. But then she wrapped her legs around him and, apparently feeling secure while pinned to the tree, let go of him with one hand in order to snake it down between them. Between his legs, to be precise.

A strange sound met his ears and it took him a moment to realize it was his own gasp. He'd never made it before. He thought he felt the vibration of a laugh from Beelzebub against his throat, when she tipped her head back and leaned up to kiss him. Her lips were chilly but her mouth raged with heat, like Hell – not that dank basement but the fires that burned further beneath. The kiss tasted coppery and sweet. He learned later that he had managed to cut his tongue on one of her incisors.

They shifted against one another, trying to get into position – _what_ position Gabriel wasn't sure, at least not until he found himself grinding up against her, a delirium-induing heat somehow managing to emanate from her body, which he had always found to be cold and distant.

Her hands gripped at his collar, loosening his tie, undoing the buttons of his shirt. He was about to ask what she was doing when she yanked his shirt open enough to place her mouth at the muscle between his neck and shoulder. Then she bit him.

He knew from the pain that she had broken the skin; her teeth, sharp as daggers, easily sank into the flesh. He snarled in surprise and bucked against her but she held on gamely, mouth like a vise. If he wanted to shake her free he’d have to stop and... he _didn’t_… he definitely did not want to stop.

He was quite certain he was not supposed to be doing this, and yet there was no explicit rule saying that he shouldn’t. Gabriel needed rules, just like anyone else; without them everything fell apart. And this wasn’t even something anyone had ever thought about before, let alone mentioned whether it was allowed or not. How was this different from any other interaction he was forced to have with Beelzebub in the course of their professional relationship? Without any definition this could easily fall within the same category in which he had to pay her bill at the lunch counter, or allow her to steal his handkerchief. So long as their ends were accomplished, all activity leading towards it should therefore be allowed. That was what was most important: the bottom line.

Even in that tangle of rules and regulations and red tape, however, he was still pretty sure he was not supposed to engage in human mating rituals with his arch-nemesis, which is definitely what was happening. But it was difficult to really do anything about it when Beelzebub was clutching at him with her nails and her teeth, her small body practically vibrating between him and rough surface of the tree.

He'd read about it, heard about it, seen it in his rare times among the humans. And, of course, it was one of the common topics of most jokes in Heaven. But since bodies were so rarely inhabited, and their time spent on earth was even less, it was not something angels were expected to ever experience. So nothing could have prepared him for when he finally came after several long, furious, indelicate minutes, Beelzebub still wriggling roughly against him.

He pressed his forehead against the tree bark, noting an unusual roaring sound in his ears that for the moment drowned out everything else. Eventually hnoticed she had stopped biting him and her face was now pressing into his chest. She was taking long, deep breaths, and there was only one reason for that: she was smelling him, inhaling his scent. For what purpose, he wasn't sure.

He felt the urge to kiss her again, and started to do so. She jerked her face sharply to the side. “Let me down,” she demanded.

Probably for the best. He could taste blood in his mouth.

They took a moment to gather themselves. Gabriel did not look at her, concerned himself only with bringing his appearance back to acceptable terms. His hat had fallen to the ground at some point – maybe she had even knocked it off in her frenzy – and he picked it up, flicking off the dust, smoothing his hand over his head to straighten his hair before placing it back on.

Once he was done, he saw that Beelzebub had gathered herself in kind and was now leaning back against the tree, arms crossed. What had just happened? He wasn’t exactly sure. He opened his mouth to ask but, luckily, the part of his mind that felt it was better to focus on what the fuck actually made sense took over.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Her bottom lip was beginning to curl in annoyance. That was totally fine. He was confused and strangely out of breath, and she needed to be punished for it.

Then she stepped in close to him. He had forgotten about his shirt and tie, he realized; even the pain of her bite had become a dull ache, faded by the euphoria of whatever had just happened between them, and he was distracted enough that he hadn't even managed to properly put himself to rights. A normal person, he was relatively sure, would have done up the buttons of his shirt; after all, they'd been the one to undo them in the first place. Then maybe they would straighten his tie. Instead, Beelzebub clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing right beside the bite she had left on him.

He grabbed her hand and dragged it away, gripping it _tightly_ – just a breath away from breaking her fingers. She smiled. Her teeth were very white. Despite the expression her voice was cold and angry. “Are we done?” she asked.

He let her go. “We’re done,” he stated.

She side-stepped him. “Until next time,” she said. She paused, leaned back on her heel, and tossed him a look over her shoulder. It told him absolutely nothing. “Thanks for the handkerchief,” she said, the earth beginning to cave in around her.

Gabriel had to write a report. No one would read it, but it had to be there,_ it had to be filed_.

He left a few things out. He especially left out the part where she said thanks. It would have made the entire account too unbelievable.

**Author's Note:**

> TIME FOR AN AUTHOR'S NOTE.
> 
> Any historical inaccuracy for the American South in the 1930s is entirely my fault. However, Coca-Cola definitely only cost 5cents for like forty years or something. Also, forgive any typos, I didn't want to overthink the story too much so I only did a light edit in the later stages.  
The town Jubilee is named after the main town in one of my favourite novels, _The Lives of Girls and Women_ by Alice Munro.  
'Let your demons run' is a lyric from the song _Beat the Devil's Tattoo_ by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.  
I listened to a playlist almost the entire time I wrote this fic, and you can find it [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-QNPitNoW5JFUKj0d_w7znUQFt4tL3jD)!
> 
> This _is_ written as if the next time they see each other is on the tarmac right before Armageddon, which just goes to show how great these two are at compartmentalizing literally everything, and also in not giving a fuck.
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading and you can glimpse the madness at vodkertonic.tumblr.com :D


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